


A Knife to the Throat.

by matt_writes



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Blood, Blood Loss, Character Death, Death, Ficlet, Heavy Angst, Pink Blood (Dangan Ronpa), Stabbing, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 07:04:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21193595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matt_writes/pseuds/matt_writes
Summary: Ouma Kokichi is sick and tired of everything.





	A Knife to the Throat.

**Author's Note:**

> i dunno man hes in the kitchen and hes home alone
> 
> i just randomly got this idea

_ I’m so sick of this. _

_ I’m so sick of my life. Everyone’s a fucking cunt; everyone’s toxic; everyone’s a liar. _

_ These rumors about me are getting old, yet they’re so effective. They upset me so damn much. _

_ I’ve tried to make myself feel better, but nothing’s working. _

Ouma held a sharp knife to his throat, the tip barely touching his flesh. He was nervous; nervous of what people would think of him if he actually did it. They’d think of him as more of a pathetic wimp. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he leaned the knife in closer to his neck, slightly squishing his skin. He wasn’t bleeding yet, but he would if enough pressure was put on the knife

His hands began to tremble, the short boy sniffling. He took a shaky breath or two, before pulling the knife back, and bending his neck to tip his head back. Then, without thinking, he dove the knife’s attention back to his throat.

A sharp yet dull pain stabbed his neck, all movements becoming still. The knife pierced his pale neck, the tip poking out of the back of his neck, blood slowly dripping from the cut. Ouma didn’t breathe; he couldn’t breathe.

He pulled the blade out from his neck, and the taste of metal soon formed in his mouth. Now, bunches of blood poured from the deep cut in his neck. The knife came out of his grasp, falling and hitting the floor beneath him.

Neon pink painted his lips, chin, neck, clothes, and the floor.

His legs became wobbly, and his mind became fuzzy. Ouma’s vision became blurred, and he was sick to his stomach. Weakly, he held onto the counter, eyelids threatening to fall shut.

If he tried to breathe, he’d only get more blood in his mouth, and more pain in his neck, though he was quiet, and made no noise at all.

Tired; he felt tired, and being lightheaded caused him to feel extremely exhausted already.

He could just rest his eyes for a while. Yeah, just a while..


End file.
